


under the desert stars

by faeblesmith



Series: tell me where to begin, because i never ever felt so much [3]
Category: Bill & Ted (Movies)
Genre: Camping, Hypothermia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lots of internal monologue, M/M, Oversharing, Period Typical Homophobia, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, Ted-centric, Unbeta'd, implied/referenced panic attack, improptu camping, lmk if i can add anything to tags, re: child abuse it's bc of cpt logan's grossness and his general manipulation of ted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27776242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeblesmith/pseuds/faeblesmith
Summary: Ted just needs to get away. Be alone. Or, not alone, but alone (with Bill), because anywhere Ted goes, Bill goes.His dad won't leave him alone, and the song still needs to be written, and he has strange fluttering feelings for Bill that never seem to go away. So he and Bill drive off into the California desert for a minute away from it all, wholly unprepared to actually be in the desert night.Very Ted-centric. Not as much fluff as last time, sorry, but I did try.
Relationships: Ted "Theodore" Logan/Bill S. Preston Esq.
Series: tell me where to begin, because i never ever felt so much [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2032000
Comments: 19
Kudos: 57





	under the desert stars

**Author's Note:**

> so here's the thing. technically this is a pt. 2 to "getting back to sleep." however, it got totally out of hand. this is being posted at ABOUT 5:30 am and i haven't slept yet. it's totally unbeta'd so if u are my friend and see some major weirdness, lmk so i can fix it. i hope it's not too much for anyone, i tried to make it tamer than i initially started. (for example i was going to have cpt logan call bill a f*g and decided against it). they do end up sharing a sleeping bag, tho. 
> 
> ps how come when i was tagging for hypothermia (mild, like stage one. nothing dangerous (sort of) and written from experience uwu) the tags "hypothermic dean winchester" and "hypothermic castiel" came up. y'all been writing THAT MUCH hypothermia fic??? freaks lol (/j)
> 
> edit: I FORGOT ABOUT THEIR FUCKING KIDS FUCK GSJFHLKDNFLKAJFKLJADLGKNAZLKDGKAJDGLAEJIAN ok, it's ok, we can recover from this i-
> 
> anyway enjoy ig

_“... and you’re always hanging around with that_ Bill _. Why would you move in with that lazeabout when you have a fine girl like Elizabeth, Ted? Don’t you want to do anything with your life?”_

Ted grips the receiver, white knuckled and trembling. He had called his dad to ask if he had left his jacket there last time he came over. A half hour later, John Logan is still yelling into Ted’s ear, his vitriol worming itself into the crevices of Ted’s brain. He and Bill have gone to Hell and befriended Death, they have travelled the circuits of time and found forever friends at every stop, but John Logan refuses to see beyond the life he expected Ted to lead. Sometime during the lecture, Ted had slid down the wall of the little kitchenette and sat on the peeling linoleum. He stares at the ceiling, counting the bumps in the popcorn finish. His father says something about ‘Ted’s stupid band’ and Ted lets out a shaky breath. (Fifty popcorn kernels).

“Dad, me and Bill have to do music. It’s what we’re meant-”

_“That little queer has you_ brainwashed, _Ted. I don’t understand why you think it’s the fate of the universe to-”_ The way he says it makes Ted want to cry, or scream, or yell every swear he’s ever heard. So instead he says, 

“We _have_ to do music, Dad.” And they do. (A hundred thirty-seven popcorn kernels). Bill and Ted have yet to write the song that unites the world. They’re pretty sure they’ll know it when they do it. “It’ll feel right,” Bill had said, and Ted agrees, but it’s been two years now. They’re twenty-five. The princesses are looking at properly integrating into society; they’re looking at _universities,_ they’re picking out _careers_ , (two hundred fifty-two popcorn kernels) and he and Bill are still trying to write the universe’s perfect song. John Logan cannot be right. Ted won’t let him be. 

_“Ted, are you even listening to me? Is Bill there right now? I won’t have you ignoring me to_ fraternize _with someone like him.”_ On and on he goes. (Three hundred fifteen popcorn kernels). It seems like wherever Ted is, something --someone-- manages to ruin what he has. Before he and Bill moved out, Ted’s dad would call or, on one terrible, memorable occasion, show up at Bill’s house to ruin Ted’s good mood. Now that he’s out of his father’s house, Ted still gets bogged down with the song they know they need to write and his dad continues to tell him everything he’s ever done wrong. Plus, he just won’t stop saying nasty things about Bill now that he never runs into Mr. Preston, and if Ted isn’t careful, he’ll say something that will have his dad on his case forever. (Four hundred seventeen popcorn kernels). Maybe if Bill and Ted could get out somewhere else for a little while, it wouldn’t be an issue. The song might come easy, if they don’t have to worry about Ted’s dad, or rent, or how are they supposed to unite the world if they can’t even write one good single? (Five hundred thirty-seven pop- 

The front door lock jingles and Ted watches the deadbolt turn. Bill comes breezing in, whistling and windswept, and slams the door behind him. It rattles the wall and annoys the neighbors, but Bill just likes being able to slam the door without anyone getting on his case about it, and Ted likes watching Bill be himself. 

“Hey, dude,” Bill calls into the apartment, not having noticed Ted crumpled in the corner, his father still yelling through the phone. Ted watches Bill’s brows furrow when he doesn’t get a response. “Ted? Are you- Oh.” Bill looks down and finds Ted. Something on his face must alert Bill to the nature of the phone call because his entire expression darkens. “Your dad, dude?” It’s a question, but only for appearances. So, because if Bill can pretend not to know, Ted can pretend not to know it’s an act. He nods. Bill’s been more confident since the battle of the bands, and Ted thinks it’s admirable. It stirs something in him that he pretends he can’t feel. It’s similar to the feeling he got the night Bill let him into his bed and Ted woke up with a face full of golden curls. He’s pretty sure his dad would have a few choice words for him, were he to find out about those feelings. That thing stirs in him now as he watches Bill stride across the room, pluck the phone from Ted’s hand, and tell John Logan,

“Look, dude, Ted does not have the time for this _most_ egregious lecture.” Then, despite the shouts and the anger streaming from the phone, Bill slams it back onto the hook and, for good measure, takes it off and places it on the counter. For a few moments, it’s just Bill, Ted, and the dial tone. Bill squats down, steadying himself with a hand on Ted’s knee. The touch burns.

“Dude, let’s go camping,” Ted says. The words feel strange in his throat, like there’s something blocking them. 

“What? You mean, like, now?” 

“Yeah.”

“Ted, my friend, that is a most atypical request. Don’t you remember the last time we went camping?” Ted did, in fact, remember the last time he and Bill had gone camping. They were fourteen. Captain Logan had insisted that Ted go along with him and Deacon, and Ted insisted he wouldn’t go unless he could bring Bill. In the end, Ted had brought Bill and they spent the entire weekend in their tent playing Pokémon. They still both managed to get a terrible case of poison oak and countless bug bites. 

“Bill, that was eleven years ago. Let’s…” Ted isn’t sure what he wants to do. He looks at Bill hoping he can just communicate it telepathically. Bill just stares back, unable to read minds. “Let’s just _go_ , dude.” This seems to get through to him, and Bill nods slowly. Maybe it’s the desperate tilt to Ted’s words, or maybe it’s the way he’d grabbed Bill’s fingers when he said _‘go’_ and squeezed, but Bill’s eyes are alight and he’s still nodding. “We could hop in the van, and just drive into the desert. We don’t have to be out there for long, but…” But _what_ Ted doesn’t know. All he knows is that maybe telepathy is possible because the next thing out of Bill’s mouth is,

“I’ll pack us a bag.” And with that, he stands up and practically runs to the bedroom, presumably to pack that bag. Ted slowly pushes himself to his feet and takes a deep breath. They should probably tell the princesses where they’re going. They should probably stay here and be responsible. They should probably get “real jobs” and stop worrying about the Herculean task of uniting the universe. Ted pulls the answering machine to him and hits record.

“You have called the most _excellent_ residence of Bill S. Preston, Esquire and Ted “Theodore” Logan -- _Wyld Stallyns_ . We’re out soul searching right now, but we’ll call you back when we’ve saved the world. Catcha later!” He says into it, as happy as he can manage. They’re going camping. They’re going camping, and _no one_ will be able to get to them. They’re going camping, and no one will be able to get to them, and just the thought of the only other person in his world being Bill, even if just for a few hours, makes it a little easier for Ted to breathe. 

\---

It’s a rushed trip, but when they’re on the road Ted rolls down his window (the crank only stuck a little bit; he thinks it’s probably a good sign) and Bill made him lean over and roll down his, even if it was _non-non-non triumphant_ to risk Bill crashing them into the Welcome to San Dimas sign because Ted was halfway in his lap trying to yank the window down. By the time they’re far enough out that they can be sure no one will bother them, the stars are clear in the sky above them, and John Logan’s words are twisting around in Ted’s brain again. Bill pulls off the road and parks them behind a big, beautiful rock. In the daylight, it probably had a glow to it and a deep shadow. Bill would probably draw it if he had the chance. 

“Now what, dude,” Ted asks. He’d been the one that suggested this, but it really didn’t make it past the idea phase. If they’d told the princesses first, they’d probably have a whole camping kit with them. As it is, they have a duffle bag for the both of them and no way to start a campfire. 

“I dunno. Let’s just go sit in the back.” Ted nods, feeling a bit out of sorts. If he were with a girl-- It’s not a safe train of thought, because he _isn’t_ . Bill’s not a babe, so it doesn’t matter what Ted might do if he were. _That little queer has you brainwashed, Ted._ It certainly doesn’t feel like brainwashing. It feels like— 

Ted shoves his door open at the same time as Bill and they climb in back, leaving the van doors open and watching the stars. Maybe they should have turned on some music to listen to while they’re back here, but with Bill sat cross legged next to him, his knee brushing against his own, Ted’s pretty sure it’s okay that they didn’t turn on any music. The crickets and the wind and Ted’s own racing heart make a pretty nice orchestra. 

“I was hoping this would be a writing experience,” Ted says into the night. “Talking to my dad is most non non non _non_ heinous, and I thought maybe if we got away from everything, we could write the song tonight.” From the corner of his eye, Ted sees Bill turn to look at him. Ted can’t make himself look back. Every time he and Bill make eye contact for too long that thing stirs in his chest again and he finds himself understanding the “funny feeling” Van Halen mentioned. Maybe if Ted could pinpoint what that thing in him is, he could find the song. Maybe that’s the secret. He slowly turns to look at Bill. He’s so much closer than he needs to be, and they both know it. Neither of them move to put an appropriate distance between them. A desert breeze coasts through the bed of the van and Bill shivers, but he’s still looking at Ted, still sitting too close, still leaning ever so slightly towards Ted. Ted swallows. Bill’s eyes look almost closed and Ted wants to close the gap between them, wants to know if Bill can be warmed. In the end it’s Bill that pulls away. He clears his throat and turns to study the sky. Ted studies Bill’s profile. He can never remember the name of the guy who made it —he thinks he’s named after a Ninja Turtle— but there’s a statue that he’s always thought looked like Bill. Maybe in the future they go back in time and Bill inspires that sculptor; Ted certainly thinks Bill deserves to be immortalized in marble. 

“We should probably go to sleep, dude. If we want to do any song writing, we need to be in peak physical and mental condition.” Bill doesn’t look at him as he says it, but Ted nods anyway and crawls further back into the van. As he’s digging through the duffle bag, he realizes something terrible. 

“Bill…” He says, a familiar pang of dread creeping through him.

“Yes, Ted?”

“You only packed one sleeping bag.” The silence that follows feels heavy in the air.

“That’s okay, you can have it. I don’t mind, dude.” 

“Bill,” Ted begins, crawling on his knees back over to where he’s still sitting at the entrance of the van, dragging the sleeping bag with him. Bill’s still shivering, so Ted just throws it over him and lightly shoves the back of Bill’s head. “Dude, you’re shivering. I’m fine. Lots of layers.” To prove his point, Ted zips up the hoodie he has beneath his jacket. Bill snorts and tosses the sleeping bag off his shoulders. With a sigh and an indecipherable look over at Ted, Bill follows him into the back of the van and they settle in for the night, but not before Ted slams the doors shut and they’re engulfed in near perfect darkness. Ted bumps his shin on the way back to lay down and they both erupt into laughter. Whatever tense energy had gripped them before, it dissipates into the dark and Ted finds himself laying a little closer to Bill than is entirely necessary. 

“I’m sorry your dad is such a dickweed,” Bill whispers. 

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this, dude,” Ted whispers back. He hears the tell-tale _swish_ of Bill’s head moving against the sleeping bag.

“Don’t be, I don’t mind. I’d do anything for you, dude. You just need to ask.” Ted thinks he’s serious, but whatever he might want to ask for is off limits anyway. In the dark Ted can imagine being able to whisper his deepest desires to Bill and in his imagination Bill says “okay,” and “I want that, too,” and “I lo--” Ted scrunches up his faces and lets out a deep breath. 

“Goodnight, dude.” There’s a pause. Maybe Bill is already asleep.

“Goodnight, Ted.” It’s not their usual goodnight, and something in Bill’s voice makes Ted’s name sound different, sound better than it ever has before. Ted replays Bill saying his name in his head until he finally falls asleep. 

\---

Ted is _cold._ He can’t remember ever being this cold before. His jaw aches with shivers and he can barely uncurl from the ball he’s pulled himself into to reach out for Bill. He barely manages to brush the edge of the sleeping bag with the tips of his fingers and a swear trembles out from his lips. Ted presses forward and manages to get his hand on Bill’s shoulder; his shivers shake him awake. 

“Ted?” 

“Bill,” Ted tries to get more out, but a shiver rips through him before he can say more. 

“Shit, Ted, are you okay?”

“I can’t stop,” Ted’s jaw tenses shut as his body desperately tries to warm itself. Bill must realize Ted’s not going to be able to get anymore out because he reaches out from the sleeping bag and presses his hand to Ted’s neck. Apparently he didn’t find out anything good from his test because the next thing Ted knows, Bill is unzipping the sleeping bag and pulling him into it. It’s a tight fit, what with two fully grown men in one sleeping bag, but Bill manages to worm his way around and zips them in. They’re tangled together, legs between legs and Ted wrapped around Bill in a way that anyone else would call possessive. Ted just thinks it’s warm. It’s warm and Bill is tracing patterns into Ted’s forearm through his sleeve and as Ted warms up, his deathgrip on Bill loosens but he doesn’t try to move or get out of the sleeping bag. It’s probably the arrangement they should’ve had from the start, but that’s okay. 

“Dude, did you know you look like that David statue?” Ted whispers in Bill’s ear. He doesn’t know why he says it, or why he’s thinking about his earlier musings, especially given that he can’t even see Bill. Bill’s fingers stop tracing against Ted’s arm. 

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno, dude. Your eyes, I guess. They’re… You’ve got pretty eyes, like that David statue by the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle guy-- Michelangelo.” Bill tucks his chin into his collar and lets out a noisy breath. “And you’ve got such a nice nose, too.” It feels like a dam has broken within Ted. Every little thought he’s had about Bill in the last, well, decade comes swelling to the surface trying to push through so that Bill, and only Bill, can hear them. “Is that weird? I don’t know. You’re just… Bill, you’re beautiful. I wish I could write songs for you. Maybe the song that unites the world is a song I write for you. I think you could unite the world, Bill.” Ted takes a breath and in the pause Bill clears his throat and asks,

“Why can’t you write songs for me, Ted?” Whatever Ted might have wanted to say before dies in his throat as he thinks this over. 

“Because my dad would-”

“Fuck your dad, dude. I don’t care what he would say.” Bill’s tone is fierce and tense. It’s nothing like the honey sweet way he’d initially asked. “Why _else_ can’t you write me a song, Ted?”

“Do you want me to, Bill?” No response. They lay in silence for a while, and eventually Bill starts tracing along Ted’s arm again. Ted is almost asleep, the soft press of Bill's fingers combined with the steady sound of his breathing and the distinct scent that can only be described as _Bill_ has Ted warm, and comfortable, and nodding off. Just as Ted is about to slide into dreamland Bill whispers,

“Of course I do, dude. I lov…”

Ted is asleep before Bill can finish his thought. 

**Author's Note:**

> as always, follow me anywhere @ faeblesmith
> 
> (i'm also @billsprestonscumsock on tumblr. no i'm not ashamed of the url)
> 
> thanks for reading uwu


End file.
